


each afternoon stays rosy late

by sangiebyheart



Series: love in its many forms. [6]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, But very vague ones because I am a coward, Fashion Model Jongho, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Model/Photographer Dynamics, No Dialogue, Photographer Yeosang, Writertiny Secret Santa 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: Kang Yeosang.The name of the man who has photographed Jongho for many a campaign over the years, and Jongho is not shy to admit that the photographer has caught his eye. What once started out as a shy meeting between two rather creative souls of the industry, wet behind the ears still, both of them, has now developed into a seamless push and pull between vision and reality, where Jongho shall follow Yeosang’s every whim as soon as he speaks it.Jongho is glad to have found a friend amidst the flurry of the fashion world.Or, Choi Jongho is a model, in love with his photographer and friend Kang Yeosang.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang
Series: love in its many forms. [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015008
Comments: 17
Kudos: 53





	each afternoon stays rosy late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poutfairyateez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poutfairyateez/gifts).



> yes, it is i, again for the writiny secret santa. this one is for mar, who asked for photographer/model dynamics.  
> i hope you enjoy this gift <3 i am sorry it is a bit late, but I hope you feel the love within.
> 
> stay safe and healthy throughout the end of the year. let's start with high hopes into the new one. : )

A distinct click reverberating throughout the studio, and Jongho moves to another pose.

He chooses to look over his shoulder, presenting his bicep to the camera, expression schooled to perfection, and he hears another click, another click, another click, before he changes position again, showing off his chest, arms falling to the side.

The light is blinding, but his eyes do not tell a story of his discomfort.

Jongho is wearing an extravagant designer piece, fashion of the highest kind, art woven into every stitch. A sleeveless top flows into a flood of fabric, engulfing him like a black coat akin to a void of nothingness, and Jongho feels as though someone has tried to make him into a dark sort of nobleman, who has business with greater demons and made a pact with the devil himself to hold onto eternal youth.

Dramatism is meant to accompany this particular ensemble, Jongho has no doubt.

The photographer calls for him, golden voice like honey, sweet, sweet, sweet to Jongho’s senses, asks him to angle his head up, just a bit, asks him to turn it to the side, just a bit, and Jongho obliges willingly.

Kang Yeosang.

The name of the man who has photographed Jongho for many a campaign over the years, and Jongho is not shy to admit that the photographer has caught his eye. What once started out as a shy meeting between two rather creative souls of the industry, wet behind the ears still, both of them, has now developed into a seamless push and pull between vision and reality, where Jongho shall follow Yeosang’s every whim as soon as he speaks it.

Jongho is glad to have found a friend amidst the flurry of the fashion world. Although Jongho has enough amicable relationships with people of all corners in this industry, none are quite so calm and quiet as Yeosang, none quite so shy yet humorous when comfortable, and in all this craziness, Jongho is more than happy to settle down for a dinner with a friend so dear who does not ask him to boast, to preen, to prance for longer than he has to - for he has already seen enough of it himself, with the discerning eye of quality that is gifted to few and fewer still.

Jongho is far from a layman when it comes to photography himself - though if he had to pick someone with a unique viewpoint, excellent technique, and wonderful bedside manner, Kang Yeosang would combine those three attributes within his very person, flawlessly so. Kindness is rarely something Jongho will encounter on most days, so his heart flips with excitement whenever he is assigned to a campaign Yeosang has the privilege of shooting.

Afterwards, when a long day turns into a short night, Yeosang is always happy to show Jongho the raw products of their work, and Jongho is content to sit and watch in silence as Yeosang edits quality pictures to fulfill their highest potential. Early on in their friendship, Jongho had learned how easily Yeosang would be embarrassed in this creative process, and Seonghwa oh-so-helpfully supplied that Yeosang typically did not let other people see what he was currently working on, be they a model from the job itself or an insistent, impolite editor of a magazine who could not wait a day or two for pictures shot the very same afternoon.

Jongho had felt very special, then, even as Seonghwa clasped his hand before his mouth as though he had just revealed Yeosang’s greatest secret; they had not known each other for very long, but Yeosang did not hesitate to be a part of something rather meaningful, something rather private, and Jongho could not help but trust that their bond would grow into one tugging at his very heartstrings, as well - meaningful, private, though Jongho has not found one day to complain about it, yet, and he doubts that he ever shall.

Yeosang is quick and precise with his pictures - a special sort of focus about him that Jongho has yet to discover in other photographers, though he may be a bit biased - and thus, Jongho is done in a matter of minutes. Yeosang asks him to hang back for dinner after they have wrapped up for the day, and Jongho happily accepts the invitation on the condition that Yeosang pays - as if Jongho were in any position to demand such favors from him. 

As much as Yeosang makes a show of rolling his eyes at the sweet, sweet request - asked for with a pout and sparkling eyes, no less, as Jongho is also a rather talented actor in a drama, and he knows he fares better if he at least acts like he deserves a treat - in the end, Yeosang cannot stop the smile from reaching his face, far too used to this routine that is uniquely theirs and no one else’s.

Jongho changes into his regular clothing to watch Yeosang finish his work, a white shirt wrapped around his slim, though most certainly muscular frame, as if it were woven onto his body by divine tailors. Now, from the sidelines, Jongho sees just how delicately Yeosang moves around, heavy camera in hand and wielding it like it weighs nothing, feather-light in his grip, and it looks as though magic has entered the tiny studio, with Yeosang as its rightful, graceful master.

Jongho often wonders if Yeosang’s career could have taken a different path, if he had so chosen it.

For Yeosang strikes you with his sharp eyes, with his angular face, with his gorgeous expression the very same minute you have the pleasure of meeting him - he transforms you into a man incapable of speech, robs it of you in a curse inlaid in just one look, and even still, he remains oh-so-innocent, humble and shy, the very opposite of the person you would expect him to be.

Kang Yeosang defies all expectations with grace.

Choi Jongho is taken with him to the very core.

And Jongho is quite aware of the ruckus Yeosang has caused amongst his peers - a man so beautiful, wasting away his time behind the camera instead of in front of it - the money he could make, the fame he could acquire. It would all be his with a snap of his fingers, the world at his feet, and hundreds of thousands of people at his every beck and call.

But Yeosang is not the type of person to revel in attentions he did not ask for — by strangers, no less, who will only like him for his superficial beauty, only like him for as long as he puts it before his bright personality. Yeosang would rather stay a strong name at the end of a page, rather than a pretty picture in a fashion spread, although he does not judge anyone for wanting to be just that - after all, he and Jongho probably would have had a hard time becoming as close friends as they are if he did.

Before Jongho knows it, the afternoon sun is beginning to set, and models and stylists alike vacate the studio, leaving only Yeosang and himself to pack up their stuff.

The air is peaceful, as usual; work well done, a productive and successful day past them, and more importantly, an evening ahead of them meant to spend together - Jongho feels as though he may be floating on the clouds as he helps Yeosang pack up his equipment, the two of them working in tandem without having to discuss it first.

Yeosang sends him the occasional smile whenever their paths do cross, Jongho’s heart tumbling as much as his feet do in the seconds after.

There is something different about tonight, though Jongho cannot quite place just what it is. Nothing has changed between them, between this moment or the other, between their friendly greeting in the morning and their easy synchronicity in the evening.

It is familiar, and it is not.

And when they are done, Yeosang asking him if he is ready to go, Jongho snaps out of a dream he was not aware of, one that commanded his hands despite himself, but made sure his thoughts stayed occupied with this ongoing mystery - Yeosang smiles at him, though his eyes shine with an unspoken question when Jongho takes a moment longer to respond. Jongho blinks out of it quickly enough, grinning back smoothly, and then he heads off before Yeosang can inquire after any strange expressions or odd behaviors Jongho’s brain might spontaneously procure.

Dinner passes in a blur, then, and as much as Jongho enjoys himself with Yeosang, his head is elsewhere entirely. Yeosang talks and talks, quiet and exhausted but still so very eager to tell Jongho of his next projects, of personal goals he intends to achieve with them, and yet, Jongho does not seem to process his words at all, blinking in and out of his reverie and trying to keep his focus.

It is a feat of difficulty, however; because there is much to admire in the warm orange light of the restaurant, such as the golden strand of hair falling into Yeosang’s face, out of his ponytail, the stars in his eyes as he tells a tale of his adventure in the park with his dog as he went to take pictures in his free time. The soft curve of his pink lips around every syllable he speaks, even the way he does it so softly, gently, and remains the only thing Jongho has any chance of registering in the incessant noise of the evening rush.

Jongho wishes he could capture it within eternity, this moment, this person, this heart and soul and devotion and passion, all of Yeosang that is so freely given to him, although Jongho knows not even the expensive cameras in Yeosang’s collection would do the man in front of him any justice.

It is unfair, as much as it is a relief - it leaves Yeosang a precious jewel, glimmering in the light. A glimpse into the moment through a picture could never have the ability to make the world see all of him, all of his worth.

God, how has Jongho come to be so lucky to be here with him, in the presence of the most treasured person imaginable?

And that—that is where his brain reaches a threshold it intends to cross.

And Jongho sits, engages in conversation with Yeosang, making his best and most frivolous attempts to ignore the whispers in his mind telling him;

Telling him that he is in love.

Screaming at him, really, truly.

Jongho chokes on his drink when the voice gains strength and overpowers him, and he almost blurts it out right then and there, as Yeosang fusses over him while Jongho is coughing his lungs out.

In hindsight, Jongho does not remember how he manages to progress through the evening without confessing his feelings to Yeosang in a nervous fit, and although Yeosang asks if he does feel quite all right several times over, Jongho is reminded of his senses in the last minute and able to deflect, if only to spare himself some further embarrassment before he has not gotten his act together yet.

Yeosang ends up paying for dinner, after all, if only because Jongho misses the chance to ask for a split bill, in all his pondering over groundbreaking revelations - Yeosang smirks at him, as though he knows, as though he is aware of the brand-new inner turmoil cooking up inside of Jongho, when all it must be is the smug satisfaction that radiates off someone who loves to trick people into spoiling them, but quietly so.

Shame overcomes Jongho, then, when he asks himself whether Yeosang is just as _generous_ in other areas, and his cheeks color in a rosy red. As they exit the restaurant, Jongho hides in the cold night air as they walk to Yeosang’s car, neither intending to part yet - a silent, unspoken agreement, as it always is, especially since Jongho’s speech has forsaken him. Jongho wishes he could ban all inappropriate thoughts to a place he has no access to, like a cupboard forgotten because the key is lost, or a nook in the back of a closet where old, dusty secrets lie.

They listen to music in the car, mellow sounds that Yeosang prefers. Love songs, no less, and Jongho is inclined to feel a bit fooled. A bit ridiculed. But Yeosang is singing along, in a low, gravelly voice and with an absent mind as his focus is on the streets and their path home, and Jongho truly cannot find any fault in Yeosang’s choice of music, not when it leaves the car with a sort of quiet that leads towards coziness.

Jongho’s beating heart slows down considerably over the course of the twenty minutes of the car ride.

A nervous buzz remains in his blood, but it is a gentle simmering, endurable, rather than the previous prickling at his every fiber, gnawing at his bones and attempting to urge Jongho into action prematurely. His lungs can catch a breath, and Jongho can watch the ongoings of a city late at night without a million thoughts sprinting through his head, never quite reaching the finish line, though never ceasing in speed regardless.

He is thankful to Yeosang, for having this effect on him still, even mere minutes after Jongho has realized just how far his feelings for the man genuinely reach. Yeosang may remain oblivious to the magic that he does, but Jongho does not need him to know - perhaps, it is exactly what makes Yeosang so powerful with it; the unconscious call to make a person feel so welcome with him, and never doubt that the grand things in life are not really so grand at all, as momentous as they may appear at first glance.

Because later, when they arrive at Yeosang’s apartment and Yeosang goes toward the kitchen to fetch them something to drink, Jongho follows to see Yeosang stand in the white light, pulling his hair out of the ponytail and running his hand through locks that stick out to everywhere, it seems, except where Yeosang wants them to be.

And Jongho stops in the doorway and takes it all in, the mundaneness of it all, without rushing to come up with a new mask to conceal his love for the person closest to his heart. For there is nothing, nothing, _nothing_ about this Yeosang he needs to fear, even with the feelings that he feels, nor their supposed sudden appearance in Jongho’s life.

This—this is _Yeosang_.

Always so sincere with him, never sugar-coating a bad situation, but so cheerful with good humor, if he senses that Jongho’s mood is quite affected by a rough day.

Always so happy to aid Jongho, in any and all situation, complaining though never to his face, and never with a heart behind it, for he is helpful by nature, and could not grow a malicious bone in his body.

And if it all comes down to it, there is no soul in this world Jongho would rather get his heart broken by than Kang Yeosang - but, foolishly, Jongho believes that there is no heartache in sight, not for him. Not when Yeosang returns the smile Jongho gives - the one that is so lovely, so fond and affectionate - with a force of a thousand suns, Jongho is smart enough to read a turning point into this evening, one that came so naturally, Jongho is ready to laugh at his past self for panicking over something he had not needed to panic over.

This has always been where they were meant to end—or begin, whichever way one looks at it.

And it dawns on Jongho that he has been playing catch-up for the better part of three years.

Yeosang waiting for him, with the patience of an angel without his halo.

Now, Jongho knows what drives Yeosang to indulge in photography as a medium to express himself. There is far more to it than just capturing a moment—when meaning lies in the air, a simple picture’s value rises to the heavens’ highest point, and Jongho would love nothing more than a tangible memory of this moment in years to come.

It is his luck, then, that he knows where to find one of Yeosang’s cameras.

The sight of it perplexes poor Yeosang, especially when Jongho asks him to take a picture of him.

Yeosang’s mouth hangs open in confusion, and he stammers through a bit of shyness before Jongho can convince him to indulge him, indulge himself, and trust that Jongho will have as good an eye as Yeosang does - for there is so much beauty in this ugly little kitchen that Yeosang hardly ever uses, in this humble apartment that Yeosang has rented since the beginning of his career even though he can afford much better living situations these days, yet remains content where he is, for sentimentality alone.

And Jongho must be the one to create this little piece of forever, if Yeosang shall allow him.

Yeosang does, in the end. With a little less convincing needed than Jongho would have thought.

With the first clicks after Yeosang’s approval, the man stands rigid and stiff, uncertain in posture and expression, but Jongho does not begrudge him for it—in the future, Jongho shall promise not to catch him so off guard, give him a week’s notice before he reverses their roles for some late-night shooting session.

To distract his mind, Jongho begins to hold a conversation with Yeosang, as though his face were not hidden beneath a camera, and Yeosang not his brightest subject. It starts as stilted as Yeosang’s forced poses, but Jongho urges him to relax for him and inquires about his plans to travel around South America in the coming summer.

Practice makes perfect, after all - and although they never quite reach what their line of work would deign perfection—when Jongho fails to focus the lens on Yeosang for a second, and Yeosang has a hard time explaining it to him through a laugh Jongho would have loved to photograph if it had not been at his expense—Jongho comes to the conclusion that it does not have to be, and settles for a picture of Yeosang smiling, looking to the ground with red cheeks, embarrassment a vivid painter.

When he goes to show Yeosang the fruits of his work, he does not expect Yeosang to take the camera from him and set it aside in the very same instant Jongho is within an arm’s reach, to pull him in close and kiss him with a tenderness so unmatched, so above and beyond anything Jongho has ever known of a true love’s kiss, that Jongho has to clutch at Yeosang’s shoulders for stability, lest his knees might give out under him and he shall become nothing more than a sorrowful puddle on Yeosang’s kitchen floor.

A hole in his chest fills with warmth, though Jongho had not known there ever was such emptiness inside of him. Maybe, he muses as Yeosang grows bold and their kiss heated, it comes from being so complete as a person on your own, but ending up making space for someone else when the right person asks for an entry.

If this theory holds true, Jongho is glad it is Yeosang knocking at his heart so violently, it has no chance but to fire a counterattack, beating harder than is considered healthy, Jongho is afraid.

Exhilarated, he is, too, when Yeosang bites and licks at his neck, abandoning red-kissed lips to explore more of Jongho, lending more attention to every detail of him, now that he has a chance at closer inspections, and no objections whatsoever from Jongho himself - no objections, no resistance, only hands grabbing at Yeosang’s shirt and surprised gasps and emboldening whimpers, because Jongho’s brain has kissed him goodbye for the night. All which leaves his mouth is plain instinct, and Jongho should not be held accountable for it come morning.

Exceptions to the rule can be made of course, if Yeosang’s careful and attentive lips give a good argument without ever speaking a word.

Now, Jongho feels the intense need to pull back and catch his breath, so he can prepare himself for what he intends to do next - it is funny how a day can start out so normal, so ordinary, and end in a spectacle such as this, one that lights the fireworks in the pit of his stomach and distributes its colorful sparks throughout his bloodstream.

Rushing to all the right places.

Yeosang is not unaffected either, when Jongho’s hand wanders lower, lower, _lower_ , and Yeosang gasps into his mouth when Jongho starts palming his half-hard cock through his work jeans. Reality claws at them, then, and through half-lidded eyes, Yeosang regards Jongho momentarily, bringing a hand up to his cheek to draw him in for a softer kiss—it answers a question Jongho was just about to ask, and if the kiss is not enough to set Jongho on his tracks, it is the way Yeosang’s lips curve around words of encouragement and praise, and the gentleness behind the hand guiding him to his knees and wandering into his hair.

Yeosang curls his hand into Jongho’s fiery strands, not quite pulling, though Jongho senses Yeosang is holding back.

Jongho’s hands grip onto Yeosang’s waist, fingers digging into bits of bare skin where Yeosang’s shirt has already been yanked out of his pants, and because it is too much of a nuisance, really, Jongho pulls out the rest of it, unbuttoning it halfway to plant kisses over the expanse of his stomach, relishing in the gasps sensitivity brings about in response.

It is with slow movements that Jongho unbuckles Yeosang’s belt, lets it slide to the floor beside him - uncomfortable, now that he is lending thought to it in his aroused haze - and then, nimble fingers pop the button of Yeosang’s jeans, gliding it down Yeosang’s legs with an agonizing pace.

Yeosang whines above him, and Jongho makes no attempt to conceal his grin.

He decides to be merciful when he does the same with Yeosang’s underwear, immediately nosing at the insides of his thighs to spread his lips and bite wherever he can, teasing Yeosang a while longer until the grip in his hair tightens and Jongho listens to the urgency in the sweet, sweet sounds Yeosang releases.

Sweeter still, when Jongho finally gets his mouth on him, taking him in gentle portions, deeper with every time his lips wrap around his dick.

Jongho has been told many a time that he is gifted with his tongue, and he is putting his skill to good use with the way he licks at Yeosang’s tip every time he pulls off, hand coming up to jerk at his cock occasionally, for the resulting moan is a reward worth more than gold, and Jongho finds himself growing more and more addicted.

Breath hot against Yeosang’s dick, Jongho looks up, dazed eyes meeting the most divine expression on Yeosang’s face he has ever seen, and yet, when Jongho asks him to use him as he pleases, Jongho believes the sight of a moan rivals the very sound of it—the shape of Yeosang’s mouth is so lovely, features so relaxed and at ease and full of pleasure, Jongho is scared to lose himself.

He resumes his activities momentarily, continuing to hold onto Yeosang’s hip when the man starts thrusting into his mouth in tandem with Jongho’s movements, and they are as well-attuned as they can be, after some time of trial and error and adjusting.

It does not take too long until Yeosang’s nails scrape against his skull as Jongho’s hair is pulled in a rough tug, and Yeosang chokes on another whimper before he remembers to give a warning to an enthusiastic Jongho still working his magic.

Jongho remains in place, because he likes where he is just fine, and he invites Yeosang to spill inside of his mouth as though it is nothing, but Jongho revels in it - this feeling of being so close to someone you have given an intense orgasm to, and it may perhaps be a bit too much for their first time together like this, but Jongho is too high on emotion and horniness to care.

The high-pitched moan comes as an unexpected benefit, Yeosang’s staccato pants singing until he is spent entirely, and Jongho pulls off, wet release swallowed, tries to stand without making it too obvious how much his knees hurt, and then he gives Yeosang an open-mouthed kiss, as though his mouth had not been where it has never been before.

Yeosang lets him claim him like this, because two can play dirty in this game, and it appears that Yeosang is not quite done with Jongho at all.

They relocate to the bedroom, then, camera lying forgotten in the kitchen, but this very moment now is too private and intimate, the feeling etching itself into their hearts before any picture ever could seem to grasp it, even in memory.

When all is said and done, energies exchanged and love letters written into each other’s skin, wholesome sleep overcomes them, entangled and interwoven anywhere they can be.

Morning comes with the rays of sun through the blinds, and whispered words of affection are of the utmost priority upon their awakening.

It is the end of an era, and it is the start of one;

The model and his photographer, though you would never guess who is who between the two.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, be sure to let me know with a kudo and a comment! silent readers are all fine and well, of course, but if you have it within you and liked this story, a word of you would mean the world to me <3
> 
> mar, I hope you were happy with your gift. <3 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/sangiebyheart) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sangiebyheart)


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